


Take A Bite of My Bad Girl Meat

by oxymoronassoc



Category: True Blood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoronassoc/pseuds/oxymoronassoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort of AU, Sophie-Anne confronts Eric. Post episode 302.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take A Bite of My Bad Girl Meat

She isn't his type. She can't even compel him. All she has is that she ranks one rank above him and is a scant few hundred years older than he is which, at this point, in the grand scheme of things, isn't so many years at all. Besides, he has an advantage: he was turned a man; she was turned barely a girl. 

He's never gone for those little, waif-like Lolita girls. He likes his girls to be women, with womanly curves and womanly attitudes. This adolescent thing has brought him nothing besides a nagging fear and a boredom he can't feign. You can only play so many games of Yahtzee and Scrabble before you want to kill yourself, never mind that you're already dead. 

And she likes other women, or maybe it might be safe to say other girls. Not his women of course, not that he'd even put it in such archaic terms even if it's technically true; Pam would have his proverbial balls if not the literal ones, never mind that he is her maker. She has her ways. They've lived together long enough for him to know and for her to know ever better. She smiles, he smirks, they move together as one parallel unit. It's worked for centuries and he feels no deep urge to provoke her with deep truths instead of his normal snide commands. That semblance of choice, of his allowance of her subtle insubordination, it keeps an ebb of balance between them better than any master and servant except maybe in some early 20th century British satire fiction. 

But Pam isn't his problem; she's never been. That's why she's perfect right-hand man. She's all business, and even when she isn't, her personal "life" as it is never flows over into his. He can count on her. He cannot count on his Queen. The irony does not escape him, but at the same time, he knows to expect it. The imperious leader can be toppled at any moment by a weak support that is treated inferior. Rarely does he treat his second in command with the contempt that little fire-haired bitch directs his way.

It's not that he minds selling V. After all he's made his business selling himself--as a brand--but also, for the sex of it. For the allure. He might not physically prostitute himself, but psychologically, he might as well for the energy he has to put into his club and his people to keep it going strong night after night. The pulse of the bass beats to the thump of his heart. 

Don't get him wrong--oh, pity those who get him wrong, who see that basement, that "conversation" room--he loves his club. He loves it with the heart and soul he hasn't had in close to two thousand years. His club is his life, so to speak. Well it was before _her_. 

But he isn't here to talk about that bitch. No, he has so many things to address before he will allow his mind to truly try to resolve that girl---no, that woman. He might distract it for months, even years. That thought pleases him even as it also makes his useless stomach drop towards his hips, even though that organ has ceased to work the psychological factor still exists and it makes him angry. Angry and sad. Angry and sad and upset and, ultimately, resigned. Resigned, but not for months and years to come. He has time; he thought he'd have all the time, all the time in the world, really, because when you're undead, who else can be counting besides that god you might not believe in and his best friend the devil? But suddenly, suddenly time is counting down and one man, even an undead powerful Viking vampire man, can only do so much in that time. 

"You've wandered from the topic," she says, suddenly startling him from his reverie. He can feel her warm breath against his chin, her unnecessary breath that is a show of force. Her foot is braced up against the crotch of his trousers, pressing down with just enough force to capture his attention, the long, high heel riding along the seam. The narrow bottom of the heel is balanced carefully on the pillar she has him shoved up against. 

"Forgive me, majesty," he murmurs, staring over her immaculately parted hair. 

"Eric," she purrs in that low, throaty voice that seems like it should be at odds with her looks. It's bored and slow and womanly.

"Your majesty?" he says again, swallowing slowly against the pale hand with its blood-red retro manicure that's braced against his throat just below his Adam's apple.

"You've been a bad, bad boy," she tells him with a mocking laugh, tipping her chin back so her icy blue eyes meet his. Their eyes should reflect the same shade; they wouldn't be so different in color if they were humans. But in her eyes he sees an unholy sapphire; in his, there is a depthless blue of a deep lake that anyone--vampire or human--could drown in. She licks her lips, leaning closer. Her fingers tighten against the bones of his jaw, almost to the point where he could feel them creak. "You don't like me," she states against his mouth.

"No, majesty," he whispers, his lips barely moving.

She pauses for a long moment, as only truly old vampires can, her face a motionless mask and the thought crosses his mind that he is truly dead now, for once and for all, and there is nothing he can do for those he loves--for Sookie, for Pam, for--

"Good," she purrs and the pressure against his groin is suddenly alleviated. The hand on his jaw slides down his neck, across the skin of his chest exposed by the low curve of his tee-shirt. "Eric," she says. "You know what?"

"What, your majesty?" 

Her nails dig suddenly hard into his chest, hard enough to draw blood. "Stop being such a little suck up. Say what you mean." Her fingers relax as they trace slowly across the top of his pectorals to the neck of his shirt where they tangle with the collar and rip it as easily as if it was paper. 

"I thought you liked girls," he sneers provokingly. 

"Oh," she says with a slow, haughty laugh. "I do. But you...I'd make an exception for."

"Fuck you," he snarls, pushing her hard even as he takes a step backwards. 

"Oh yes, fuck me," she says, her fangs descending. She licks them slowly, first the right and then the left. 

He feels himself growing hard despite himself, and his fangs slide down halfway. Eric swallows and bares his teeth. "Little girl," he hisses, "go along home. Don't make me show you what I know. You won't enjoy it." 

"Oh, Eric," she laughs softly, changing her stance. Her booted feet are on either side of his, but still on the floor. "Baby," she croons and his ears find it both offensive enough to curl his lips and attractive enough to make his dick harder and his fangs slide down another fraction of an inch. "You can't resist me. Even if I don't vamp you." She laughs softly into his ear and raises her hips up against his in an inhumanly gymnastic moment, grinding against him before subsiding. "Even if I didn't..." She laughs again and takes a few step sback, her hair still in its perfect 1940s wave, her ridiculous satin retro top under its fur wrap still in place like she'd never touched him. Her fingers reach back to give the tie on her top a tug and it sags beneath her fur. 

He laughs in the same tone she used and shakes his head. "Sophie," he purrs, making her name into a nasty curse and obscene caress. "You wish you could darling. _You wish you could._ "

"Don't underestimate me," she says in a voice too slow and calm to be vindictive, but it somehow is anyway. Her furred coat slides down over her arms, the wrap front opens, and her pale skin is revealed. He tries to not look but he can't help himself. Her breasts jut high on her chest but there is nothing small or childlike about them. Sophie-Anne smiles as she advances on him, her pale, creamy flesh wobbling enticingly. 

"Where is that girl... the new one." She smiles viciously, fangs fully descended. "Summon them. Make them dance. Make them dance naked. Have them... oh..." she laughs. "Have them get off on it, _darling_." She spits the last word like a curse.

Eric snarls, his fangs coming fully out now too, longer and thicker than Sophie-Anne's, but he cannot help to comply with her wish even though she places him under no compulsion.

"Hanna, Katrina," he snarls, jerking his eyes angrily at Pam in a sideways gesture he hopes she understands. She smiles placidly and disappears behind his office door only to heard the girls out a moment later. Her fangs are half-down now as she smiles before she quickly closes her mouth to give Sophie-Anne a polite grimace. 

"They're beautiful, Eric," Sophie-Anne purrs. Her fingers are suddenly in his hair, jerking it, and his scalp back, in a rough gesture. "So beautiful and blond. Is there something you aren't telling me?" she coos. 

"Your majesty?" he chokes out. 

"Eric, don't even fucking bother," she growls, the hand not in his hair sliding down over his abs to the front of his pants where she caresses him slowly and firmly. "Mmm, big boy," she purrs in that bored voice. "Don't even act like you aren't interested. You warriors...all the same. But no, Eric. I know. You're _different_. But that doesn't mean you don't want to fuck me, does it?" She leans back, laughing softly. "Do you want to fuck me hard, from behind, smashing my face into the mattress? Spreading my hips so wide, pressing my ass cheeks apart as you slam your dick up inside me until you hit my useless cervix?" She licks her lips. "Oh, you do. Too bad." She pats his cheek and he growls.

"My queen," he says quietly, without a hint of a lisp through his fangs. "You do know that I am now without a maker with no loyalty to you? That I can and will crush you at any moment?"

Her face pauses in a perfect porcelain moment and she dismounts him. He shakes himself slowly and advances on her until she's pressed up against the dancing stage, the girls she requested still gyrating above her slight form.

"Your majesty," he says with that hint of a laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking involuntarily. "I feel I should ask you to beg, but you are the elder to me so I will instead just make a request." Eric smiles wickedly, taking slow steps backward to recline in his throne-like chair.

"Yes?" she snarls, tossing her head and long auburn hair down her back, meeting him imperiously in the eye. She flicks a glance at the exit, where Pam has moved to stand, arms crossed. Her smile too turns fanged and she takes a step towards Eric. "Darling," she purrs. "It's too bad you're just a sheriff. Not that I could ever promote you any higher without you usurping me. Yet here we are." 

"We have lost too many Old Ones recently, my queen, for me to destroy you," he says quietly. "But I cannot let you continue to use me as your scapegoat. I am meant for much more, or you would never have played me so in the first place." He bares his fangs, his fingers digging into the hardwood of the arms of his chair. "Darling Sophie, I would not mate with you even to sit at the right hand of Odin. You are a praying mantis and would eat me alive in a moment's notice. And," he says, smile going crooked. "I am worth more to you alive than dead." 

Her nose rises in the air and her perfectly made-up mouth quirks in a smile. "I am glad to see you have passed my test," she says after a beat, her fingers going to the ties on her fur, closing it against her bared flesh. "I will speak with you soon, Northman." She snarls at him, and he feels another chill even as the thrill of victory courses through his recently replenished veins. 

"I look forward to it." He nods to Pam, who steps aside to allow Sophie-Anne to whirl and stalk out of the club. Eric lets out a breath involuntarily; if he'd been human, he'd have been holding it. "Get out of here," he snarls at the dancers, lowering his forehead to one hand. 

"Oh, Eric," Pam says, a smile on her face even as her tone voices concern.

"I know, Pam, I know," he says, raising his eyes to her as his upper lip bares one fang in a smile that is also a grimace.


End file.
